


you drive me crazy.

by viscassia



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, mythic lesbian heather chandler gets shoved into a closet, that's all the symbolism you need really, veronica doesn't even own drain cleaner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 12:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscassia/pseuds/viscassia
Summary: Veronica is tired. She is dizzy. She is sleepy. And there is nothing she wants to do more except lock herself in her room until her 30 hours left to live are up – all goes according to plan until demon queen Heather Chandler herself shows up at her backyard, drunkenly demanding an audience.Alternatively: Veronica acts like a normal person and goes home tosleepafter the party.[DISCONTINUED]





	1. often, i am upset

**Author's Note:**

> am i late to the heathers train? am i late to the _chansaw_ train? choo-choo, i guess.
> 
> anyway, this is an experimental fic. i haven't really posted anything with actual chapters in a while, but let's see how this one goes. hope you enjoy it!

Veronica was tired of this crap. She was drunk, and she was dizzy, and she was exhausted, and, _god_ , she didn’t know how the Heathers could tolerate this kind of shit every weekend. Partying was so overrated. The music blasting from Ram’s house faded away with every step, but so did any ounce of energy she had left. _God,_ why did she let Duke give Martha that stupid note? Why had she written it in the first place? Why was she stupid enough to get _this_ intoxicated at her first high school party? And, perhaps worst of all, _why_ did she have to get sick on no other than alpha bitch _Heather Chandler’s_ shoes?

The streetlights swam in the cool September night. It was late enough that the only sounds that could be heard (apart from the distant party music) were Veronica’s pathetic footsteps on the concrete sidewalk. _Clack, clack, clack…_

Stupid shoes.

Stupid alcohol.

Stupid Heathers.

She could have pulled that stunt _after_ Chandler had dropped her off at home like they had arranged, but _no_. Now she had to _walk_ home with what was basically a death sentence ticking down 30 hours to death via social suicide…her execution date? Monday. Time? 8AM. Attendees? Only the entire student body. The night was young, but really, Veronica was _way_ too exhausted from the night’s earlier events to even bother doing anything crazy. All she wanted to do at this point was go home and spend the rest of her time left on God’s graceful earth sleeping. Perhaps her dreams would treat her kinder.

20 minutes later and she was finally home. Really, she should be thankful that she was only a few blocks away from Ram’s house, but in _heels?_ She might as well have walked to China.

The lights were off when she entered her house, her parents presumably asleep. She stumbled upstairs – which was probably the most difficult journey of her _life_ because god knew the inventor of stairs never had to go up them _this_ dizzy – and promptly collapsed on her bed. The world faded into black as she welcomed her descent into unconsciousness.

That was one _wonderful_ thing about sleep, at least. No Heathers. 

* * *

 

Veronica’s luck hadn’t lasted for long. _Clack, clack, clack…_

The piercing sound of pebbles (?) hitting her window invaded her dream – something that involved corn nuts and…drain cleaner? Dread gripped her as she spared a glance at her clock – 4:30AM. Well, so much for resting. _Clack!_

“What the hell?” Veronica looked outside her window to see no one else but the almighty Heather Chandler herself standing in her _front yard_ , aiming another rock at the glass. “Heather? What…”

“ _God_ , let me in, Veronica! Do you expect me to be here all night?”

 _Well, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at all._ Heather stood, arms crossed, hair curled, make-up primed. It was a sight to see in her humble backyard, the girl more worthy for a renaissance painting showcasing hell. Veronica stared.

It was probably not the _best_ idea to let the living embodiment of Satan into one’s household, but maybe it was the alcohol left in her system that found Veronica stumbling downstairs to open the door anyway. It was a miracle her parents weren’t waking up from the noise, really. She’d make the worst burglar ever.

Finally, she clicked the front door open only to find Heather already waiting. She stepped aside to let the girl in. “God, what took you? Were you waiting for me to _die_ or something?”

“I’m not that lucky…”

“What?”

“Nothing, Heather.” Chandler glared at her and Veronica _swore_ she saw hellfire. “What are you even doing here?”

Heather blinked, looking like she was asking herself the exact same question and it was only then that Veronica caught the smell of vodka that clung to the other girl like some deadly aura. Only then did she notice the slight slump of her shoulders and the microscopic trace of a stumble with Heather’s every step. Oh, _shit_ , was Heather _drunk_?

Not just that – was Heather drunk in _her_ house? She stared at the other girl for what might have been a beat too long.

“What?”

“Uh – nothing! Let’s…do you want to go to my room?”

_What?_

A breath. Heather’s shoulders squared; her stance heightened. She stared at Veronica, suspicion laced in her gaze and just as she thought the other girl would decline because it was a stupid idea, really, but Veronica wasn’t above basic human decency and she had actually been taught how to welcome guests and she really wasn’t a horrible host and – “…sure.”

“Ah, uh, okay. It’s upstairs.”

Veronica, death row candidate, bringing her executioner up the staircase she had trekked only a few hours ago to her bedroom. It would have been a hilarious sight, worthy of some reality show, if she weren’t so confused. _Sure_ , okay, Heather Chandler shows up in her front yard, throwing pebbles at her window like some fucked up version of Romeo and Juliet, and demands to be let in? Where were the other Heathers? Why didn’t she just go home after Ram’s party? And why did she go _here_ of all places? Veronica didn’t voice out any of these questions as she finally opened the door to her bedroom. Her sheets were still miserably rumpled, and her desk was disorganized, notebooks opened, papers scattered, pens on the floor. A used shirt was hanging on her chair along with a pair of knee-high socks that she had just bought. Blue, her assigned color.

“Do you normally keep your room this filthy or is there some special occasion?” Heather Chandler sneered, arms crossed.

“I didn’t think there would be guests.”

“Hm.”

The pair stood there in an awkward silence, Heather looking around the room, nose scrunched up in disgust, and Veronica trying to look everywhere _but_ the other girl. Only a few seconds had passed, but she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Heather, I don’t mean to be rude, but what the – _heck_ – are you doing in my house?”

For the first time in Veronica Sawyer’s life, she sees diffidence pass through Heather Chandler’s face. Just as quickly as it arrived, though, it disappeared. With all the suaveness of someone at the top of the high school food chain, she finally said, “I was checking if you had made it home.”

_What?_

“What?”

“You didn’t expect us to just let you _walk_ home, right?”

Truth be told, that was _exactly_ what Veronica expected. What Heather was implying made absolutely no sense – the Heathers weren’t obliged to follow basic human courtesy, much less after the utter shitstorm she had caused. Plus, she wasn’t _really_ a part of their clique. She was just a gofer, a mere slave, doing the dirty work so she could keep her shaky position at the top. They had no moral nor social imperative to keep her on the team, much less bring her home. What Heather was saying was that she was _still_ willing to drive soon-to-be-ex-somebody Veronica home after she had thrown up on her. In fact, she had unnecessarily taken the minor detour home (which, as far as Veronica knew, the Heathers never did) just to check if she actually had made it back…safely?

If Veronica knew better, she would almost say that it was as if the Heathers or, at least _Chandler_ , actually cared…

Clearly, she had gotten lost in her thoughts a little too long because when she came back to reality, Heather was staring at her, unimpressed.

“Well, you’re home. Which means I’ll be leaving. You’re still dead to me.” Chandler rolled her eyes and started walking back towards the stairs.

“I – what? Wait!” Veronica grabbed Heather’s arm – a little too hard. Chandler stumbled backwards from the force and crashed – right into her. To Veronica, it happened in slow motion. The sudden turn, the sudden weight on her chest, her legs buckling underneath her. _Oh shit._

Heather was clearly acting way more sober than she actually was, otherwise this would not have fazed her at all. Veronica felt her back hit the floor _hard_ , followed by the weight of Chandler on top of her. From this close, she could smell the alcohol radiating off of the girl in waves, the heat emanating from her body that was all soft skin and defined curves and – wait, _what?_

No, _bad_ Veronica. Not the time.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I’m so–” She glanced up only to find Heather’s face mere _centimeters_ away from her own. All words in her throat were instantly silenced. From here, Veronica could see every detail on the girl’s face and, she thought, if she were to die right now, it really wouldn’t be _that_ horrible of a last sight. Mascara and eyeshadow so perfectly applied on eyes that were so bright, so furious, so iridescent blue. Lips…

“Get. Off. Of. Me.”

Veronica snorted and she felt an otherworldly wave possess her. “Actually, _you’re_ the one on me.”

Heather gaped.

_What. The. Fuck._

Honestly, she might as well have dug her own grave and embellished her own corpse because she sure as hell was _not_ getting out of this encounter alive. Really, with one miscalculated move and six badly chosen words, she had managed to shorten her 30 hours left to live to a mere 30 seconds. Briefly, she wondered if there were a Guinness World Record for fastest death ever sentenced.

Heather had only just composed herself, opening her mouth again to deliver the final blow that would end Veronica once and for all when they heard a door open somewhere across the hallway.

“Veronica, honey? Are you alright?”

Oh right. _Parents._ Veronica Sawyer was saved from instant death by her _parents._ Great, now she could prolong her suffering. Lucky her.

She scrambled out from underneath Heather. “I’m fine, Mom! I just…fell.”

She held her hand out to the girl who was now staring at the hardwood floor like it was some alien from one of those weird, new sci-fi movies. Heather glanced up at her, seemingly unwilling to move until they heard the footsteps coming towards the door.

“Okay, _please_ , just stay here for now. I’ll deal with this first,” she whispered, all but shoving a dazed Heather into her closet. She could deal with Satan later. For now, she needed her mom to leave her alone. Things were complicated enough without her mother’s judgement on why she had a _girl_ over at 4-in-the-fucking-morning without notice.

“Veronica, we heard voices. You fell? Are you alright?” Her mother stood at the door, her father right behind her, staring at her concernedly.

 _Think fast._ Veronica smiled, trying to un-focus her gaze. “Uh, yeaaah, Mom. Dad. I just got back, actually. Uh, I must have drunk too much…’cos there was, um, alcohol at Ram’s party.” She tried to hiccup, but honestly it sounded more like she was choking. “But don’t worry! I didn’t drive. Heather brought me. Well, one of them did. Heather Chandler? The, uh, red one? Yeah, her. Then I got home and went up the stairs and, uh, fell because…”

“Oh, sweetie. Why didn’t you say there would be alcohol?” Her mother cut in, surprisingly unfazed, perhaps reliving a moment of her youth, as was always the case when Veronica shared _anything_. “Well, this was going to happen eventually. When I was your age, I had my own fair share of wild times. I’m glad you’re home alright.”

“How much did you drink?” Her dad said, more curious than angry. He looked over her mother’s shoulder, trying to assess her sobriety.

“Does it matter? Honey, how about you get some sleep and we’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Veronica grinned, some of the tension in her shoulders released. She shot a few finger guns their way, trying to keep in character. Right now, she was not Veronica-with-a-demon-in-her-closet, she was drunk-irresponsible-fell- _up_ -the-stairs-accidentally-Veronica. “Okay! Yes. Yes, that would be greeeat, mom and dad. Thaaanks.”

Her parents smiled at her as they closed the door, but Veronica couldn’t relax until she heard the door to their room close as well. A few seconds passed. Okay. Now for the _actual_ problem. She padded over to the side of her room, almost tripping on a stray brush that she forgot she had tossed on the floor.

“Heather?” Veronica slowly opened her closet door, careful to make as little noise as possible. There Heather Chandler stood, arms crossed, chin raised, nostrils flaring, eyes _way_ more aware than they should have been for someone who reeked of alcohol.

“Well, I hope you brought kneepads, _bitch._ ”


	2. i'm a little sick right now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm glad you guys liked the first chapter! here's the second. 
> 
> this week, i'm thinking that i can update this daily, but for the upcoming weeks, most likely updates will be less frequent because school starts again. also, this will be around 15 or so chapters? i'm not quite sure. depends where the story takes me.
> 
> anyway, without further ado, enjoy the next instalment of 'you drive me crazy'!

Veronica could never have seen it coming. The hand on her shoulder that whirled her around like she was nothing, her back hitting the wall with a muted _thud!_ ( _god_ , at this rate she would be having spinal problems at 17), Heather Chandler’s breath against her ear…

“I raise you from _nothing_ and you puke on me at your _first_ party all to defend your precious Martha Dumptruck.”

Veronica’s heart thudded in her chest and she wasn’t quite sure if it was from animalistic fear or from the fact that the hottest girl in High School was pressing against her in her _closet_. The heat was getting unbearable and she felt a bead of sweat trail down the side of her face. Chandler’s arm was positioned to her left, forbidding her freedom, while her right shoulder was being pressed _hard_ against the wall. She was whispering in her ear, “Then you humiliate me by _leaving_ when we agreed that _I_ was your ride back.”

That _still_ made no sense, but her thoughts were cut off by Heather’s next words. “Then, you lock me in your fucking _closet_?”

Heather pulled back, letting her gaze rest on Veronica. Her voice was unnervingly calm, but the fire in her eyes could have consumed Veronica whole. Her body would be found in her bedroom, burnt to ashes. It would remain one of those murder mysteries in Ohio, probably to be laughed at by dumb kids when they saw it in the paper next morning. _Seventeen-year-old girl found burnt to crisp in own closet._ Her parents would mourn. Martha would attend her funeral. Maybe.

“And, you don’t even bother _apologizing?_ Do you _want_ to die on Monday?”

That statement struck Veronica. There seemed to be something more beneath it, as though if she had only thought to _apologize_ , she might have actually had a chance for redemption. Like Heather thought that she had _wanted_ this to happen by straight-up ditching the party after the incident.

It was only then that she found her voice again. She met Heather’s glare, trying not to convey her confusion. “Aren’t I dead either way?”

The two held their ground, maintaining their tense gaze. Veronica sure as hell couldn’t understand what was going on, but she pinned Heather’s words and actions more to the fact that she was probably not completely there otherwise they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, right?

In the pause, she noticed a few other things that had slipped past her before – Heather’s leg menacingly pressed in between hers, the hand on her shoulder trembling _just_ the slightest bit, the hint of grey that seemed to speckle eyes that were so startlingly blue.

Heather released her death grip and she snapped out of the trance.

“What a waste,” Chandler sneered. “You could’ve been one of us.”

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to be.”

“Well, you’ll get your wish.” She leaned closer and the less rational part of Veronica’s brain thought she was actually going to _kiss_ her. Instead, Heather continued. “But I’ll have you know that starting Monday? Westerberg is going to be your own personal hell.”

“I knew that when I left the party.”

There were no longer any consequences to the words she said. The outcome was the same either way. The adrenaline of knowing you were a dead man was way more persuading than any shot of liquid courage.

“Fine, see you Monday then.”

“Fine.”

Heather pulled back and Veronica cursed the traitorous feeling of disappointment that blossomed in her chest as the cold night air replaced the space Heather had occupied. For a moment, Veronica thought she saw something like exhaustion paint the other girl’s face. She watched Chandler take a few steps, noticed the slight sway of each one as she exited the closet and made her way to the door, then something occurred to her. “Wait…did you drive here?”

Heather was silent.

“Holy shit, you _did._ ”

“So what?”

“You’re _drunk._ ”

“I’m _tipsy_ , there’s a difference – not that you’d know.” Heather rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I was bringing you home anyway. Besides, I’ve done it, like, a million times before.”

That wasn’t reassuring. As much as Veronica had wished Heather Chandler dead throughout the course of her High School life, she couldn’t really bear to know that _she_ permitted her to drive, knowing full well that she was…tipsy. It was dangerous, even with the few cars that were probably around at this godless hour, and she didn’t really feel inclined to being even _partly_ responsible for the tragic death of the queen bee of Westerberg. “Look, I’m not letting you drive home.”

“Oh, so now you’re holding me _hostage_.”

“No! I just don’t want you driving like this.”

A huff. “I’m fine. I told you, I’ve done it a million times before.”

“ _No,_ Heather.”

“Fuck you, Sawyer.”

Veronica withheld a groan. _God,_ what was it with the people at the top of the food chain? They were either stupid or stubborn – or both. “Listen, at the very least let me drive you home.”

“You’re _not_ touching my Porsche.”

“Then stay here!”

_What the hell?_ Why did she say that? Her parents weren’t lenient enough for her to have impromptu sleepovers, much less from one of the Heathers (who had arguably made some _terrible_ first impressions). Not to mention that she wasn’t quite sure she _wanted_ Heather to stay over in the first place.

Then again, it must have been at least 5AM now so it wouldn’t be for too long. Her parents were late risers so as long as Chandler could leave before 9AM, they would never need to know. She and Heather wouldn’t even need to talk if she was just sleeping off the alcohol anyway. Veronica glanced at the other girl who was now staring at her, visibly confused.

“Look, I’m not letting you drive yourself home no matter what, so you either let me bring you or you stay here for the rest of the night.”

This girl just threatened to _kill_ her. She might as well be pulling a Mother Teresa. Anyway, perhaps this would score Veronica some Heaven points after the damnation she threw herself into after the incident with ‘Ram’s’ note.

She waited for Heather’s response. Even someone like her knew when she was fighting a losing battle – not that Heather _Chandler_ ever lost. “…ugh, fine. But I’m on the bed.”

“Works for me.” Veronica nodded.

She watched as Heather sat on her bed, sparing a disapproving glance at her striped bedsheets before finally laying down and closing her eyes. Veronica then grabbed the spare pillow and blanket from her closet (that was probably cursed at this point) and set them on the floor. She spared another look at Heather who, to her surprise, was staring back.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“I know.”

Heather turned, pulling Veronica’s blanket over herself and disappearing into the mess of bedsheets.

Well, that was crazy.

Veronica replayed the events of the night in her head. She had puked on Heather Chandler’s shoes and walked home, only to be woken up by none other than a _tipsy_ Heather Chandler who was reprimanding Veronica not only for her lack of apology but also not _allowing_ herself to be brought home by her? All that while being cornered in her closet. Now, Chandler was sleeping _in her bed_ because Veronica wasn’t allowing her to drive herself home, bringing her to the present: on the floor of her own bedroom.

Regardless of the events that had occurred, she _should_ sleep while she still could, but the adrenaline of standing up to the alpha bitch of High School was still coursing through her. Not to mention the worrying ache between her legs that had not lessened since what could only be referred to as the ‘closet incident’. She mulled over her options as she painfully turned on the hardwood floor. Yeah, she would _definitely_ be having early onset spinal problems.

This was not working out.

Veronica promptly stood, grabbing her journal from the desk and sitting down. If she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, she might as well write. Maybe her memoirs would be published after her death on Monday and she could enjoy some sweet post-mortem fame. Ha. She looked at the lump that was Heather Chandler seemingly sleeping soundly on her bed. She looked at the closet, still left open from the prior events. She looked out the window where she only now noticed Chandler’s silver Porsche lopsidedly parked in her garage. Veronica sighed.

_Dear diary…_

* * *

 There was something particularly depressing about watching the sun rise if you hadn’t planned to. Veronica watched as light began to filter in from the window, turning the black sky into a piercing dark blue. The sub-urban neighborhood birds began singing, breaking the prior silence of the night.

It was beautiful, sure, but it was also a reminder that she had _barely_ slept.

Instead, she had occupied her time with other things. Writing in her journal, finishing some of her schoolwork, reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ for Ms. Fleming’s class…and staring at the unconscious Heather Chandler who had, sometime in the night, shifted enough that her face peeked out of the bedsheets.

Veronica wasn’t trying to be creepy. No, not at _all._ It was just strange to see Heather, whose face was so often cranked up to the ‘meanest possible bitch face’ setting, actually relaxed for once. Her brows were loosened, mouth slack, all the usual tension just _gone_. If she didn’t know any better, Veronica might have even described her as angelic. Her blonde hair was haloed around her face, framing it beautifully and highlighting the soft curve of her chin (which was _so_ unfair because Heather wasn’t even trying). The girl, even in her sleep, was flawless.

If Veronica had any ounce of artistic capability, she might have even sketched this moment out just to preserve it. She would entitle her piece, ‘Heather Chandler but With A Soul’. It would sell for millions, garner critical praise from fans around the world. She would be rich.

…yeah, she probably should have at least _tried_ to sleep, but it was already 6:30AM so there was really no point in doing that now – might as well shower. She grabbed her towel, careful to lock the door to her bedroom lest her parents come in.

Veronica entered the bathroom, blinking as she adjusted her eyes to the light that she switched on. She stripped, stepped into the bath, and cranked up the dials. The cold water of the shower was welcome, washing off the dirt and grime from the night before, probably along with the sinful thoughts that raced through her only a few hours ago. She wasn’t _gay_ , per se. Anyone who had Heather Chandler pressed against them in a tight, claustrophobic space would have felt the same conundrum, homosexual or not. After all, there _was_ a reason she was the leader of the High School caste system. A caste system whose main social fluidity factor was attractiveness. Heather Chandler was unarguably hot with legs that went on for miles and a body with all the right curves that fit with her own in all the best – okay.

Veronica, _no._

Heather Chandler was beautiful, but she was also _wicked._ She was the embodiment of evil. She was Satan’s human viceroy if not Satan himself. She was a she-devil from the final circle of hell. She was a siren, alluring and tempting and…yeah, this shower was _not_ working out for her either. But, in conclusion, Veronica wasn’t gay.

_Anyone_ would think the same.

Also, Veronica had standards – some of which actually fell under _morality._ She toweled herself off and exited the bathroom to find some house clothes to wear, but as she stepped out and back into the confines of her bedroom, she saw Chandler already up, sitting on the bed while cradling her head.

“Ugh, _finally._ Prairie oyster. Now.”

Heather looked up and Veronica felt a little ounce of shame as the girl quickly noted her obvious lack of clothing. Heather gaped. “What the hell? Put some clothes on.”

“Relax, I just showered…” Veronica hastily grabbed some clothes and re-entered the bathroom. When she stepped out, this time clothed in tennis shorts and a red shirt, Heather was back on her hungover bullshit. Their eyes met and Heather, with no little amount of animosity, surveyed the shirt in her signature color. The admonishment probably wasn’t worth the effort because she merely moaned out, “Veronica. Prairie oyster.”

Right. All of Veronica’s bravado from earlier seemed to disappear as she scrambled downstairs to concoct the hangover cure. What was it again? Raw egg…and pepper? Vinegar? As she browsed through her pantry, she considered spitting in the mug she handled, but decided it would be too low even for her. The only reason Heather was here, after all, was because she was…checking on her. Troubled with those thoughts, she made her way back up the stairs, the homemade prairie oyster in tow along with a last-minute glass of water and a paracetamol in her back pocket.

“Here,” she said, shoving the mug into the girl’s hand who drank it without so much as a ‘thank you’. Not that Veronica really expected it, but who knew? This weekend just seemed chock-full of surprises. She set the water and the paracetamol on the side table and Heather glanced warily at it, as though wondering if it were a trick to poison her. “I didn’t spit in it if that’s what you’re wondering.”

A moment passed and Heather finished the water as well. She left the painkiller untouched, though. The girl then stood, and Veronica couldn’t help but look as she stretched, exposing an inch more of those forever-thighs. She quickly shifted her eyes up, feeling shame weigh down on her. _Just earlier, she threatened to kill you, you creep._ Luckily, Heather didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she checked her back pocket for what Veronica assumed was her car keys and left the house without so much as a glance in her direction.

Bitch.

Veronica watched as Heather’s Porsche skirted out of the garage and back onto the road. She followed it until it disappeared down the block to the left. Well, so much for ‘no Heathers’ at home. She glanced at the clock. 7AM. She might as well hit the sheets and try to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep before the eventual talk her parents had promised her and, lest she forget, her execution in 24 hours.

She practically jumped on her bed, almost forgetting that Heather Chandler had lay there only moments prior until she caught a whiff of the girl’s perfume. A quick wave of dizziness washed over her as she remembered Heather leaning up against her, whispering in her ear, one leg between her own, the smell of cherry and vodka on her lips, and, _god_ , what the hell? She hurriedly willed the thoughts away, throwing them down into some pit in her subconscious, instead favoring the call of sleep carried by the winds of her exhaustion.

She could worry about those thoughts later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no homosexuals here. only straight thoughts are allowed.

**Author's Note:**

> heather chandler, the almighty. she is a _mythic lesbian._


End file.
